


Dancing Lessons

by TheNoctambulist



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Waltzing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-23 09:09:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23675749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNoctambulist/pseuds/TheNoctambulist
Summary: It's high time Aziraphale learned something other than the gavotte, and Crowley thinks he is up to the task.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	Dancing Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Goodness. This has probably been done before, but alas.

Aziraphale sat at his desk in the bookstore. The busy Soho streets were alive with chatter behind his window. It was growing late in the evening; the sun had set, but the skies were still blue, almost like the sun was only playing hide-and-seek. 

Aziraphale was supposed to be researching books for a customer, but instead he found his thoughts wandering. It was the end of summer, and the old bookshop had a faulty cooling system. He supposed he could miracle it to work, but… he wasn’t sure if that counted as frivolous or not. It might not go down well with his superiors.

Aziraphale shook his head and glanced back down at his work. He reached for the mug of tea he had brought over hours earlier, when he had just sat down to work. To his surprise, it was no longer there.

“Over here, Angel,” a familiar voice said at his left.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale smiled and turned. “Lovely to see you.”

The demon was slung lazily over a chair, stirring Aziraphale’s missing tea with his pinky. “Your tea got cold.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you,” Aziraphale said, and walked over to collect his mug. Scented steam rose from the half-filled cup. Before Aziraphale could reach for it, Crowley set it down on the edge of his desk and got up. 

“I’ve been thinking, Angel,” he started as Aziraphale finally reunited with his tea. “You and I- we haven’t had dinner in a while, have we?”

“I don’t believe so, no,” replied Aziraphale after a sip of tea. “The last was- The Ritz, I think? Two years or so ago.”

Of course, two years was not the longest they had waited to dine together. But after the Armageddon scare, the two had made more of a point to see each other more. They had grown accustomed to working together, and without the end of the world looming over them, they wanted to work hard to settle into this newfound, more regular friendship.

“A new nightclub opened up. Just a few blocks from here.” Crowley continued to pace. “And I thought-”

“Are you suggesting we go?” Aziraphale asked. “Oh, Crowley, you know I don’t _do_ clubs.”

Crowley stopped pacing and faced Aziraphale. “Oh, _come on_ . It’ll be fine.” He held his arms out in a sort of _what could go wrong?_ fashion.

“I hardly think they’ll be doing the _gavotte_ ,” Aziraphale reminded him pointedly. 

“And I honestly think that no one- _literally no one_ -would care if you started doing the gavotte. Some of those people, the way they scamper around on the floor, they look like headless…” Crowley trailed off as he tried to think of a sufficient word. His hand rotated in the air, almost as if to turn the wheels in his brain, or as if he hoped to pluck the word from the atmosphere. “Well, something headless, anyway.”

“Well, I can’t very well do the gavotte on my own. Besides, those places are crowded. And I hardly think I’ll fit in like _this_.” Aziraphale gestured to his three piece suit. 

Crowley snapped, and suddenly Aziraphale was wearing an entirely different outfit. Gone was his spiffy, tailored getup from before. It was replaced with slim, dark pants; a casual, cream-colored blazer; and a white, collared shirt with the first few buttons undone. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale glanced down in alarm. “I have standards, you know. Besides, I haven’t said yes yet.”

“I can throw in a loose necktie if you insist, Angel,” Crowley said, but when he snapped, Aziraphale returned to his old outfit. 

“Really, I feel I must turn you down,” Aziraphale stated as he smoothed his jacket. “Perhaps we could go on a picnic instead?”

Crowley hung his head back and sighed. “Honestly, Angel, you’re no fun.” He knelt down in front of Aziraphale and took his hands in his. Aziraphale’s were still warm from handling the tea mug. “Can I tempt you to a dance lesson?”

Aziraphale looked upwards to the left. “Crowley-”

“Just a quick one! That’s it!” Crowley spread his hands. “One and done, Angel. Promise.”

“Crowley, I’m an _angel_. We don’t dance.”

Crowley spluttered. “Angel. You literally just said you knew the gavotte. So, your point is not only inaccurate, it is also untrue.” 

“Crowley, those words are basically the same thing.”

“Potato, potahto. Hey. You know what else is basically the same? The gavotte and modern dancing. I’d wager modern dancing is a heaven of a lot easier; there’s a lot less rules.”  
“I like rules,” Aziraphale commented. “They help prevent one from making a fool of oneself.”

Crowley himself felt the opposite; rules were only there to humiliate those unfamiliar with them. But now wasn’t the time for arguments with Aziraphale. At least, not concerning rules. 

“We don’t even have to go to the club tonight! Just let me teach you some moves. I can show you how fun dancing can be, Angel.”

Aziraphale still looked skeptical.

“I’ll take you out afterwards. We can get sushi. Crepes, if you like. Or we could picnic on Alpha Centauri. It really is beautiful this time of year.”

Aziraphale considered. He did love food, especially when he was with Crowley. 

“Alright. I will take your dancing lesson… but Crowley, you better not be joking about those crepes.”

“I’m a demon of my word, Angel.” Crowley sauntered over to the old phonograph tucked between two bookshelves. A stack of vinyls was beside it. Crowley flipped through them, clicking his tongue. 

“For Satan’s sake, Aziraphale, where are all your dance tunes?” Crowley asked as he scrutinized a collection of Beethoven’s nine symphonies. “I’d try to change them, but”-he brushed his hands over the vinyl-“they’d all turn to Queen.”

He glanced at the new album in his hands. It had indeed turned into _Best of Queen_ , and had also morphed from a record to a cassette tape. 

Crowley gave a small ‘hmm’ of mild interest and pocketed it. In his opinion, one could never have too many _Best of Queen_ tapes.

“Will this work?” Aziraphale had joined him, setting a record down. He twisted a few knobs, and soon the shop was filled with swinging jazz music.

“Bebop, Angel? Really?” Aziraphale’s smug grin nearly made Crowley smile. Instead he raised his eyebrows and tapped his foot. “I suppose I could work with this.”

Crowley moved to the middle of the bookshop in time with the music. He showed no qualms about being the center of attention; then again, only Aziraphale was watching. The blinds were down in all the windows. It was just the two of them, the music, and the soft glow of light. Oh, and the books.

Aziraphale watched as Crowley began to dance. His knees and elbows flew through different moves, around and around, keeping a steady pace with the music.

At first, Aziraphale worried that Crowley’s long limbs might accidentally knock a shelf, sending wayward books and knickknacks flying, but soon he forgot his anxiety and simply observed Crowley dancing. 

Crowley moved with the air of a practiced dancer; his actions seemed so carefully intentioned that Aziraphale couldn’t believe it hadn’t been choreographed beforehand. The piano and saxophone seemed to follow Crowley rather than the other way around; the complex knee coordination, the swinging kicks, the arm twists: they were all met with musical swells and lowerings, piano trills and saxophone riffs. Crowley didn’t dance with grace- he danced with vigor and passion, exposing his heart and soul in every step. 

Aziraphale could relate very much to the drum in the piece. He found his heart tripping and skipping, but somehow staying very much in tune with the whole spectacle. 

_This_ , thought Aziraphale. _This is a true miracle_. 

The music finished with a drum roll leading into thundering piano chords and a cymbal crash. Crowley finished with jazz hands. 

“Nothing- nothing to it, really,” Crowley said, breathing heavily. He let the jazz hands drop and walked towards Aziraphale, who was clapping and smiling broadly.

“Bravo!” Aziraphale cried, and Crowley gave a funny little bow in response. 

“Your turn, Angel.” Crowley had restarted the music, and gestured for Aziraphale to move to where he had just been standing. 

Aziraphale’s awed smile was quickly replaced with a look of alarm. “I couldn’t possibly- how on Earth- you expect me to? You went too fast for me, Crowley. I’m afraid I didn’t get much of that at all,” Aziraphale spat out finally. Of course, speed wasn’t the only problem. He had been watching to enjoy, not to learn. 

Crowley spread his arms. “Oh- too fast? We can slow it down. We’ll do… a waltz. You like waltzes, don’t you?” Before Aziraphale could respond, he snapped his fingers. Bohemian Rhapsody started to play.

“Damn,” Crowley said. “I thought I could make it work. Least it’s still a record.” He shrugged.

“Here. Allow me.” Aziraphale turned back to the shelf where the records lay. “I think I might have something- aha!” He held a vinyl up triumphantly. “This should do.”

The phonograph crooned out _any way the wind blows, doesn’t really matter to m-_ before Aziraphale lifted the arm and replaced it with the new vinyl. 

A slow waltz, with its steady, soothing _one-two-three, one-two-three_ rhythm filled the bookstore. 

“Ah,” said Aziraphale, clasping his hands. “Now that’s more like it.”

Crowley swayed in time with the music. He reached out a hand. “Come on, Angel.”

Aziraphale took it. “I’m coming.”

They stood facing each other. Crowley’s hand was firm on Aziraphale’s waist, and Aziraphale gently rested his arm over Crowley’s shoulder’s. Suddenly, Crowley took a step and landed right on Aziraphale’s foot. 

Aziraphale looked indignant. Crowley rubbed his temples. “Angel, you’re supposed to move.”

“You didn’t tell me when to start!”

Crowley gaped. “I did!” He took a sharp intake of breath through his nose. “I did that. You know, that”-he did it again-“means start.”

“Well, I didn’t know that.” Aziraphale dropped his arms and turned away. “Crowley, I don’t think I can do this.”

“No no no no no no no!” Crowley said hurriedly as he reached out his hand to lightly grab Aziraphale’s shoulder. “That was my bad, Angel. I promise. I can do better. Just-”

He led Aziraphale back onto the floor. “Follow my lead. Here, I’ll count you in.”

Aziraphale watched Crowley closely this time; he could sense his body readying and was prepared for when Crowley started. 

“So what you’re going to want to do is- not that foot Angel, the other-it’s like a box, you know? You’re making a box with your feet. And so-yeah. Like that. Anyways. Just follow the music. There you go.”

Crowley led Aziraphale around confidently, so sure of his own footing that keeping Aziraphale’s correct came almost as a second nature. Crowley had danced his fair share of waltzes; certain memorable partners included a steamy night with Lola Montez and a stolen moment with James Dean after he had finished _Giant_ , but none of them were quite like this. He was hyper aware of every little thing happening: the shifting of Aziraphale’s jacket under his hand, the soft scratching of the record, and the wavering light surrounding them. 

They swirled around the center of the bookshop, Crowley muttering encouraging phrases and trying not to wince when Aziraphale stepped on his toe. Aziraphale remained meek in his movements, but gained boldness as the dance went on. He slowly fell into the regular movements and the lilting beat. He tripped less, too. Both Crowley and Aziraphale were very grateful for that fact.

Crowley, deeming Aziraphale competent enough in the standard motions, risked a slightly trickier move. Once again, he simply warned Aziraphale of the coming change with a sharp intake, and once again, Aziraphale (who was completely caught up in the moment) missed the cue. 

This resulted in the two of them tripping on both the other’s and their own feet and crashing into a bookshelf, Aziraphale accidentally pinning Crowley under his weight as he tried to regain his balance.

Aziraphale blushed. “I’m not much of a dancer.”

Crowley raised his eyebrow. “And I’m not much of a teacher. But here we are.”

And here they were, indeed. Crowley glanced down at Aziraphale. Aziraphale seemed to just now realized their situation and scrambled off him in a hurry. 

Aziraphale had seconds ago admitted he was no dancer, which is why it wasn’t a surprise that his efforts to curb the awkwardness of the situation increased it tenfold. Flustered and clumsy is not a good combination. Aziraphale attempted to pry himself off of Crowley, overestimated his strength, fell backwards, pitched forward in an effort to rebalance, and ended up smashed against Crowley once more.

The music had died down, leaving a tangible silence in its wake. Aziraphale tried to diffuse the tension.

He laughed. “I knew this was a mistake- I’m afraid I’ll never be good enough- I’m just a bumbling oaf, really, I-”

That was when he shut up, because Crowley had kissed him.

Aziraphale was stunned for the first few seconds, but then Crowley’s arm snaked around his lower back and he felt as though Crowley was teaching him to waltz in an entirely different way. 

Crowley, meanwhile, was stunned at his seemingly reflexive instinct. He hadn’t meant to kiss Aziraphale (not consciously, at least). It just happened. The first few seconds he had contemplated turning into a snake, but had ultimately decided against it. Now, between breaths, he wondered why he had waited this long.

Slowly, they both melted into the kiss. Aziraphale found use for his hands and buried them in Crowley’s hair; Crowley moaned and held him closer. 

The silence bore down upon them both until Crowley grew sick of it and snapped his fingers; Love of My Life by Queen started playing.

Aziraphale laughed against Crowley’s mouth. His hands moved down from Crowley’s hair, leaving it a mess, and cupped his face. Aziraphale drew back, keeping his sparkling eyes locked on Crowley’s widened pupils.

“You weren’t planning on going to the club tonight, were you?” Aziraphale whispered, sounding confident he’d discovered Crowley’s ulterior motive. His mouth was flushed as he smiled.

Crowley actually _had_ been planning on going to the club. He’d wanted to go for weeks, ever since it had opened. He even contemplated going beforehand, when it wasn’t even open yet. But he hadn’t wanted to go alone. Of course, he didn’t want to tell this to Aziraphale, who had just seemed to become comfortable in Crowley’s arms. He felt it would ruin the moment, and so (having ruined several in the past) he simply shook his head and leaned back down for another kiss. 

Somehow, they ended up back in the middle of the bookstore, swaying in time to the music. It had slowly morphed from Queen to another waltz, this one even slower than the last. Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale had changed it. 

They swayed, gazing into each other’s eyes. Crowley’s sunglasses had come off at some point, and now lay on the floor of the bookshop. Aziraphale’s bowtie had come undone and now hung loosely around his neck. 

Aziraphale rested his head against Crowley’s chest. His arms were wrapped lightly around Crowley. He felt he could stay this way forever.

Crowley rested his arms on Aziraphale’s shoulders. He could still feel the ghosts of Azriaphale’s fingers on him, through his hair, clutching him tightly. He gave a start when Azriaphale leaned forward and placed his head on his chest, but relaxed into the angel’s soft grip. He closed his eyes. The music, the closeness, the smell of Aziraphale’s hair- it made his heart swell. 

They were in their own world, preserved in the hug of soft piano and old books. The moment was an overwhelming cyclone of love, divinity, and desire. One could even say it was... ineffable.


End file.
